


On Deck

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: And Many Many Bandages, Blood and Injury, First Aid, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Michelle-Centric, Near Death Experiences, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: After finding out one of her best friends moonlights as a superhero, Michelle comes to accept some weird changes in her life. Namely having a guy dressed like a spider occasionally drop into her apartment to bleed all over her stuff. She gets used to it. She even gets pretty good at dealing with his nonsense.But there's only so much she can handle.





	On Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note for people wondering: I headcanon that Michelle comes from a very loving family, but her mom works nights and her dad is a commercial pilot, so neither of them tend to be home when Peter decides to make an appearance. That, combined with another headcanon that MJ and Peter live close to one another, is why he can show up to her apartment all the time.

Sometimes, Michelle hated Peter Parker’s guts.

“What the  _ fuck,  _ dude?” she hissed, lowering her baseball bat. Peter’s wide-eyed, startled face stared up at her from her bedroom floor.

“I thought you’d be asleep!” he said, flailing his arms in exasperation. “It’s not my fault you’re up at 3AM!”

MJ glared.  _ “Why--”   _ She propped the bat up against her desk. “--would sneaking into my apartment in the  _ middle of the night _ be  _ any  _ better if I was asleep?”

“Because you’d be in bed! And then I could have just tapped on the window until you saw me and I wouldn’t have  _ had _ to sneak in!” He leveled a finger at her. “Really, if anything, this whole situation is on you, and your terrible sleeping habits.”

She put her face in her hands and groaned. “I hate you. I hate you so much. I thought I’d only have to worry about murderers coming up the fire escape, but apparently hairbrained vigilantes are going to be a the bigger issue.”

Peter struggled to his feet, mask in hand, managing to drop his clunky backpack.

“MJ, look, I’m really, really sorry about freaking you out. I should have, like. Called, or something. Whatever it is adults do when they’re going to their friends’ places.”

“Yeah, well, a quick text might have helped us avoid this whole thing.” She walked over to her closet and pulled out her favorite well-worn hoodie, tugging it over her head. She felt the December cold now that her blanket was left back in the living room. “You gonna tell me why you’re here, or do I have to guess?”

Peter shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “I, uh, need to use your bathroom. Please.”

She stared at him, eyes narrowed.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Parker?” Michelle threw her hands up in the air. “You crashed in here and scared the shit out of me because you have to  _ pee?  _ You live two blocks away!”

“No!” Peter hurried to say. “Not that! I just--”

He gestured with a hand down at his calf. MJ looked down and realized with a start that it was covered in red-stained webbing. For a second she forgot how to breathe.

“Oh Christ, dude…” she whispered.

“It’s not that bad! It’s fine!” Peter started balancing on his injured leg to show her it wasn’t bothering him. Her heart leapt into her throat, but he didn’t falter. “I just need to clean it and stuff and I’ll be good as new by morning!”

She blinked.

“Well, uh, yeah,” she said after a moment. She stepped to the side and waved an arm out at the hallway. “Bathroom’s just on the right. Do you-- I think I have peroxide or something somewhere, I can--”

“Don’t worry about it.” He lifted his backpack from the floor, grinning. MJ thought this night couldn’t get any more surreal. “I keep a first aid kit in my bag. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Have… fun?”

Peter laughed like he wasn’t seriously injured and walked into the hallway to find the bathroom. As he opened the door, he looked back at her over his shoulder.

“I really am sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to. It’s just--” He pursed his lips. “May’s usually at home and asleep whenever I get back from patrol and she wakes up if I have to go into the bathroom to patch myself up and… I think it just stresses her out. And she doesn’t need that. So thanks.” He offered her another tight-lipped smile before slipping behind the door. Michelle released a shaky breath.

“Idiot,” she muttered. She watched the bathroom door for a few seconds before padding into the kitchen to raid the fridge. She spared a glance for the  _ Leverage _ episode playing on the living room television that she’d been watching before being startled to her feet by a crash. Maybe it was the show giving her undue bravery or just one of the bad ideas you get at 3AM, but she’d grabbed the bat she kept under the couch for emergencies instead of getting the hell out of there.

She sat back down on the couch with a bag of baby carrots in hand, looking at the TV, but not really hearing it. Her mind was on Peter; she could hear him shuffling around in the bathroom, unzipping what she presumed was his first aid kit and cursing under his breath as he managed to spill its contents all over the floor. Against her will, she smirked.

A little while later, as the next episode was starting, the door to the bathroom opened. Michelle did a quick count to three before looking back over her shoulder. Peter walked out, now dressed in sweatpants and a light-colored T-shirt. He smiled at her before hopping over the couch to sit beside her.

“All done,” he announced, stealing one of her carrots. Michelle pretended to glare. “Whatch’a watching?”

_ “Leverage. _ It’s about dismantling capitalism with wacky disguises,” she said. Peter laughed.

“Right up your alley, then.”

She tugged her blanket up over her knees and settled back into the couch, casually looking down at Peter’s injured leg without letting him see. She could see the faint outline of bandages around his calf, but nothing else to suggest anything was wrong. It made her uneasy realizing she’d never have noticed he was hurt without knowing what to look for.

Peter sighed and moved to stand. “I should probably go home. Thanks again, MJ.”

She waved a lazy hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” A pause. “You gonna get home okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he laughed. She raised her fist for a fist bump and he gently tapped his knuckles against hers before turning toward her bedroom. He paused. She looked at him. He turned around, smiling sheepishly. “I can probably use the door this time, huh?”

“Get out of here, Parker,” she said, rolling her eyes. He waved and disappeared down the stairs to the street outside. She clicked the TV off and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

It surprised her when Peter dropped in at 12AM instead of 2 or 3AM like usual. He rapped lightly on her window, drawing her attention away from the homework spread over her desk. When she looked up, he pulled the mask halfway off his face to smile at her. She groaned and walked over to the window to let him in.

“You need to bleed all over my bathroom again?” she asked.

“No blood this time!” Peter promised cheerily. He stepped down from the windowsill and stumbled and MJ threw her hands out to grab him as he crashed into her arms, almost sending them both toppling over. The mechanical eyes of Peter’s mask whirred as he blinked. “Just-- just a concussion.”

“Sometimes I wonder how the hell you’re still alive, you idiot.” She wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders to help him stumble to the bed. He yanked off his mask as he sat down.

“Hm. Me too.”

He was looking past her, out the window, and swaying back and forth slightly. His eyelids dipped closed once, twice, and he snapped them open again. He shook his head and then winced.

“I… should be at home,” he said.

“Yeah, probably.” Michelle took a seat next to him. “What are you doing here? I don’t have magic ‘concussion-be-gone’ lurking in my medicine cabinet.”

Peter stared into the distance a few seconds longer before registering her question.

“Oh. I… I don’t know. I think… I jus--just didn’t want May to see me? She freaks out, but you don’t freak out b’cause you’re… chill.”

MJ couldn’t help a startled laugh. “I’m chill? That’s your reason for being here?” Peter nodded.

“Yeah. You’re cool. But I should prob’ly go now ‘cause we’ve got school tomorrow.” He tried to stand and then pitched to one side. Michelle scrambled to catch him, managing to help him fall back onto the bed instead of the floor. 

“Jesus, just-- just stop moving, alright?” She stepped back, watching him try to steady himself, and bit down on the inside of her cheek, resigned to the fact that this was her life now. “Sleep here tonight. We’ll walk to your place tomorrow and pick up your stuff before school.”

“But May’ll--”

“I’ll text her from your phone and tell her where you are, okay?”

Peter looked at her blankly, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I can do it myself,” he argued eventually. Michelle rolled her eyes.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to look at screens when you’re concussed, dummy.” She held her hand out for the phone. After a moment, Peter pulled the phone out of a pocket in his suit and placed it in her palm. She typed in his passcode and opened his messages to his text conversation with May--which was  _ overflowing _ with heart emojis, they were sickening and adorable in equal measure--and typed out a quick message.  _ “This is MJ. Peter’s crashing at my place tonight so we can do hw together. He’s fine.” _

She tapped the camera feature and held up the phone. “Smile.”

Peter beamed and Michelle’s heart melted a little and she sent along the photo as proof that Peter was alive and well and in her apartment. Seconds later she got a reply from May.

_ “Ty sweetheart,”  _ with a smattering of yellow heart emojis.  _ “Don’t stay up too late.” _

MJ ignored the warmth in her chest and tossed the phone at Peter, who let it hit him in the sternum before it fell into his lap. He stared down at it and she sighed.

“You’re a disaster, Parker.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She turned and started rifling through her dresser for something for him to change into because that costume  _ reeked. _ Teenage boys were gross and Peter was even more so. She chucked a set of pajamas at his head. “Go shower. You smell like sweat and week-old righteousness.”

As Peter plodded out of the room, Michelle threw after him: “Make sure you don’t fall in the tub, Parker, because then I have to come in there and  _ neither _ of us want that.”

Peter walked into the bathroom backwards so she could see the exaggerated look of horror on his face. He smiled and shut the door.

MJ dropped back down at her desk to finish her homework, but kept one ear on the bathroom. The scratch of her pencil against paper mingled with the shower spray. She was just finishing up when the shower squeaked off.

Peter emerged a few minutes later, clad in the borrowed PJs and with towel-dried hair. He braced a hand on the doorframe to steady himself as he entered her room, but otherwise he seemed fine.

“Do you, uh. D’ya have any extra blankets?” he asked. Michelle tucked her school work away in her bag before standing.

“Just sleep under the quilt.”

“...what quilt?”

She rolled her eyes. “Mine, you dolt. Concussion 101 is making sure the person will wake up every few hours. I’m not climbing out of bed to check on your dumb ass. We’ll just share the bed.”

“Oh. Okay.”

After a moment of hesitation, Peter gingerly eased himself down on the corner of the bed. He looked painfully uncomfortable.

“What?” MJ asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “We shared a bed before when I stayed at your house. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s not-- I just…” Peter fumbled for what to say. “You get protective of your stuff. I thought… maybe… you wouldn’t like sharing your room.”

“If it means I get to stay under the covers instead of dragging myself to the living room like three times tonight, then I don’t give a shit.” She pulled back a corner of the sheets and slid under, nudging Peter with her toes. “Just don’t make it a regular thing.”

As Peter climbed into the other side of the bed, Michelle set alarms on her phone for 3AM, 5AM, and 7AM. She waggled the screen in Peter’s direction. “If you go into a coma after I told your aunt you were fine, I’ll  _ murder _ you.” Peter huffed a laugh.

“Fair enough.”

His eyelids were already drooping. She reached over and clicked off her bedside lamp before settling down into the pillows. It was going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

Michelle walked into her room just as Peter dropped onto the fire escape. He waved at her through the open curtains and moved to lift the window.

“No!” she hissed, spinning to shut her door. When she turned around, Peter had frozen in place with the window only a few inches above the sill.

“No?” he repeated, voice hushed. MJ spared another look for the door before stalking over and jerking up the window.

“This is not a good time.”

Peter’s shoulders deflated a bit, his gaze dropping from hers. “Oh, that’s-- that’s okay. I’ll see you at school on Monday, I guess.” He moved to leave.

“Peter, wait, I--” MJ put her hands over her face and groaned. “Just stay there. Hold on.”

She ran over to her bed and tugged her extra blanket off, then walked back over to Peter and climbed out onto the fire escape to crouch beside him. She draped the blanket over the section of the bars that faced the street.

“There,” she said. “If you stay low, no one should see you.” She eased back inside, giving Peter room to sit down and stretch out his legs. She tugged one side of the curtains over to cover the windows partially.

There was a soft knock on her door.

MJ spun around and pressed her back against the still-open window, flinching as cold air ran under her shirt. Her dad poked his head into the room.

“You find that blanket, pumpkin?”

She forced a nonchalant shrug. “No. I must have thrown it in the laundry or something.”

“I’ll see if I can find some more in the linen closet,” he said and then left, forgetting to shut the door behind him. She turned back around to find Peter covering his mouth with his hands to muffle his snickers.

“What-- what was all that about,  _ pumpkin?”  _  He asked. She glared.

“My dad’s home and we’re doing movie night, so stay the fuck out here.”

Peter giggled again. “Oh God, I need to tell Ned about this.  _ Pumpkin.  _ Do you have other nicknames? Peanut? Cherry? Snickerdoodle? Now I’m just making myself hungry.”

She reached out the window to swat at his leg, which only made him giggle harder.

“Would you be quiet?!” she whispered vehemently. “If you get caught, we’re both screwed!”

Peter’s laughter eventually subsided, but his shoulders were still shaking with repressed glee. MJ turned again--she was going to get whiplash from all this spinning around--and leaned up against the window. Peter’s toes brushed against her spine.

“Do you have your bag?” she asked after a moment, not looking over her shoulder at him. He hummed in acknowledgement.

“Yep.” She heard the sound of Peter patting his backpack. “It’s nothing serious tonight anyway. Some mugger punched me in the face and my nose started bleeding and it’s kinda gross? Because, like, my mask catches all the blood so now it’s like. Congealing on my face.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah.”

“It was just a regular mugger?” MJ asked. “No enhancements or anything?”

“Nope,” Peter said, popping the p. “I’ve been super slow today because I forgot to eat and there’s not a ton of food at our place because May has to go shopping tomorrow.”

“Not your brightest move, Parker.” Michelle pushed herself away from the window, reveling in the feeling of warmth that washed over her as soon as she was away from the freezing air. A sudden thought struck her. “Shit, dude, are you cold? I’ve got extra sweaters, here.”

She ignored his hushed protests as she jogged over to her closet, peaking out into the hallway to check that her dad was still occupied; he had found the blankets, apparently, and was dumping them on the couch. MJ tugged a worn UPenn sweater free from her mess of clothes and handed it out the window to Peter.

“Don’t get blood on it,” she warned. “That’s my favorite hoodie and I swear I’ll murder you myself.”

“No blood, I promise.” He pulled it over his head and slipped his arms into the sleeves. He peeled his mask off his face.

“Oh geez, dude,” Michelle said, wrinkling her nose. Blood had smeared over Peter’s lips and chin, staining his skin red, but there thankfully wasn’t too much of it.

“That bad, huh?” He lifted the hood over his head and snuggled deeper into the sweater.

“MJ, honey!” her dad called from the living room. She heard him approaching. “What’re you up to? I thought we were watching a movie.”

“I’ll bring you some water and stuff to clean up,” she whispered to Peter before pulling the other curtain across the window and bounding out into the hallway. “Coming!”

She walked into the kitchen on her way to the living room and quickly pulled two water bottles from the fridge. With the door still open, blocking her dad’s line of sight, she slipped one of the bottles into the front pocket of her oversized hoodie. 

“Do you want popcorn?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Is that even a question?” Her father laughed from where he was sitting on the couch, browsing through Netflix.

She opened the cupboard with the popcorn in it and pulled down one bag, then surreptitiously stuffed a few granola bars into her back pocket, tugging the hem of her sweater down to cover them. She put the popcorn into the microwave and punched in a minute and a half before starting back down the hallway toward her room.

“I’m just gonna grab an extra pillow,” she said. “You choose what to watch.”

“Alright, baby girl.”

Michelle walked into her bedroom and pulled back the curtain. Peter jumped a little at the sudden movement, but smiled when he was who it was. He’d been dabbing at the blood with a cotton pad, but wasn’t getting very far.

“Here.” She handed over the water and granola bars.

“Thanks, MJ, you’re a lifesaver,” Peter said, uncapping the water and taking a quick sip before tearing into the food. “Where do you want me to put your sweater before I leave?” She shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably swing by your place tomorrow anyway, so I’ll get it then.”

Peter beamed. “See you tomorrow then. Night, MJ.”

“Night, Pete.” She waved before shutting the window and closing the curtains. Michelle closed the door to her room just as the microwave beeped.

 

* * *

 

When she heard the now familiar tapping on her bedroom window, she closed the lid of her laptop, rolling out of bed to pull the curtains aside.

“I’ll get the first aid bag,” she said as she slid the window open.

“Thanks,” Peter grunted, stepping down from the sill with a tight sigh. MJ stooped to reach under her bed for the well-stocked first aid kit Peter had started leaving with her. She hefted it up onto her desk and when she turned around, Peter was already pulling out an old towel from the back of her closet to prevent getting blood or peroxide anywhere. He spread it out over her floor and sat down, hitting the spider symbol on his chest so the top half of his suit detached. Michelle looked over the thin gash crossing his shoulder blades and winced.

“Can you hand me a couple butterfly bandages?” Peter asked. She studied the wound skeptically.

“You sure a couple of bandages are going to cut it?” She’d only seen his wounds  _ after _ they’d been stitched and so had no idea how relatively bad this cut was. He never stayed in her room if he had more than a few scrapes and bruises; he tended to sequester himself away in the bathroom when he needed to tend to more serious injuries. She tossed him a box of bandages.

“Nah, it’s not that deep. I just need told hold the skin together for a few hours until it heals.” He tipped the box onto the towel and then reached back into the first aid kit to grab peroxide and cotton pads. After drenching one of the pads, he tried to reach around to clean the cut and hissed in pain. Michelle’s stomach flipped as a thin line of blood trickled down his back.

“Stop, stop,” she said, pulling the pad from his hand. She knelt down beside him. “I got it.”

Peter hesitated, biting his lip.

“You-- you sure? I mean, you never signed up for--”

“I didn’t sign up for a superhero best friend, but I’ve learned to roll with it.” She swiped the pad across the top of the cut, trying to ignore the way Peter’s ears were turning pink. The peroxide bubbled around the edges of the wound, but he didn’t flinch.

As she cleaned away some of the blood from his skin, moving in small strokes that grew in confidence as she worked, she wondered how long it had taken Peter to become used to this. Her fingers had started to grow tense from the effort it took to keep them steady. When more beads of blood slid between his shoulder blades, MJ had to concentrate to maintain even breaths as she wicked them away. Was this going to be a regular thing? Was she just going to become used to the sight of her friend hurt and bleeding under her hands?

The wound cleaned, she put down the cotton pads and picked up a butterfly bandage.

“Make sure you’re closing the wound first.”

Peter’s voice startled her enough that she dropped the bandage. She forced a laugh and punched him in the arm, far enough away from the injury that she was basically tapping his elbow.

“I know what I’m doing,” she said and hoped it was the truth.

She tore the paper backing from the bandage and held it in one hand, pinching the skin around the wound closed with the other. A dribble of warm, sticky blood oozed out over her fingers, staining them red. Her breath hitched.

“Do we have a Spanish test Wednesday?” Peter asked. She blinked.

“Um. No. It’s tomorrow.”

“Seriously?  _ Shit,  _ I haven’t been studying!”

MJ let out a breathy laugh. “Are you for real, Parker? We’ve known about this since last week.” She took a deep breath and attached the first bandage, then wiped her fingers on a clean cotton pad and picked up another.

“Do you think I’m good at time management? Have you  _ met _ me?”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughed at that and told her to shut up. She pinched his skin together again and the small flow of blood felt less like an ocean. Once the second bandage was on, she cleaned her fingers.

“Do you think you did okay on the last physics quiz?” Peter asked. She shrugged.

“I guess so. You have, like, an A in that class, what are you worried about?” She held the edges of the cut together again and this time it was shallower, with less blood seeping out. Her attention was on waiting for his response when she stuck the third bandage to his back.

“Well I was out of class before because of that bank robbery thing, remember?” She did. She’d been sneaking peeks at her phone all during the lesson to keep up with the news coverage. “And I was helping May clean the apartment that night so I didn’t get to review the textbook, so I don’t know how well I knew the material.”

“Just take the bad grade in stride,” she said, careful to keep her tone light. “It’ll bring you level with the rest of us mortals.”

“But May doesn’t let me patrol when I get bad grades!” Michelle could hear the pout in his voice and laughed.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

She pressed the last bandage into place and doused her fingers in peroxide, then dug some gauze and medical tape out of the first aid bag to better cover the injury. She passed the gauze over Peter’s shoulder where he grabbed it and looped it over the front of his chest before passing it back to her. They repeated the process a couple times, falling into an easy rhythm before MJ taped down the ends.

“There,” she said. “Good as new.”

“You’re the best,” Peter told her as he shrugged back into his suit. An instinct to tell him to slow down, stop moving before he hurt himself further, lept into MJ’s throat, but she swallowed it down. 

“I know I am,” she said instead.

He tapped the spider symbol and the suit tightened around him with a high-pitched whir before he gathered the bloody cotton pads and bandage wrappers in a plastic bag from the first aid kit and tossed everything into the trash. With a final grin thrown her way, Peter tugged his mask on and tumbled out of her window into the cool night.

 

* * *

 

Peter never tried to get into her apartment if she was asleep. She wasn’t, usually, because he tended to wrap up patrol around 2AM and she didn’t go to bed until 3 at least, but on the odd occasion she decided to indulge her circadian rhythm, Peter did his best to avoid waking her. She only knew this because Peter’s best sometimes involved him tripping over his own feet as he tried to leave and crashing into the fire escape stairs.

So it was something of a surprise when she was awoken by a slow but persistent thumping against her window. She clicked on her lamp, wincing as the light stung her eyes, and kicked off her covers before walking over to let Peter in (because who else could it be?).

When she pulled back the curtains, Peter was slumped against the glass, chest rising and falling with stilted breaths. His lifted his head a fraction of an inch before letting it fall back down with a solid  _ thunk.  _

“Jesus…” she breathed. Peter’s weight made it hard to lift the window, but as she shoved it open, he made no move to hold himself up and instead fell through onto her floor. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh  _ shit…” _

“Heyyyy, MJ,” Peter slurred. She couldn’t see his face because of the mask, but got the distinct impression he was smiling, which, what the  _ fuck. _ She rushed to shut the window and close the curtains before dropping to her knees beside him.

Now that he was in the light she could see burn marks littered across his suit, across his  _ body,  _ angry red wounds edged in black where fabric had been fused with skin. One shoulder of the suit was completely gone, revealing skin that had been rubbed raw against pavement, flecks of gravel embedded into the wound. There was a deep puncture wound in his side that was oozing blood, turning her purple carpet black at an alarming rate. She peeled off his mask only to see his jaw a mottled mess of black and blue, his split lip dribbling blood down his chin. She’d been right; he was smiling.

“I go’ into a li’l trouble,” he said.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Her heart was hammering so hard it hurt, but Peter wheezed out a laugh. He winced.

“Could-- could you ge’ the firs’ aid kit?” he asked. She nodded, scrambling over to the bed to pull the bag out. She tore it open, almost breaking the zipper in her haste, and dumped everything out onto the floor in front of her. She needed-- what? What was she supposed to do? Burn cream, he needed burn cream. And bandages. And antiseptic, and probably a fucking  _ skin graft. _

MJ took a breath. Freaking out wasn’t going to help Peter.

“We need to get the suit off,” she said, already moving to leverage him up into a sitting position. Peter tried to raise a hand to slap against the spider symbol, but his arm flopped back to the floor, useless. As MJ slowly raised him off of the floor, his eyes widened and his breath hitched. 

“Stop,” he gasped, blinking rapidly, “MJ, stop,  _ stop.”  _ He squeezed his lips tight together, but she could still hear the pained sound in the back of his throat. She hurried to ease him back down.

“Okay. Okay, that’s not gonna work.” She tapped the spider on his suit and the fabric loosened to lay over him like a blanket. With some careful wriggling she managed to pull the ends out from under him, but when she tried to lift it, Peter whined in pain and she realized parts of it were stuck to the burns all over his body. She couldn’t take it off without hurting him further. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Think, Michelle, think.”

“Put-- Put pressure on-- on the rebar wound,” he stammered.

“The _what?_ I-- nevermind.” She picked up a cotton pad, realized it was far too small for the river of blood leaking onto her floor, and ran out into the hallway to grab a clean dishtowel from the linen closet. When she came back in, she pressed it down on the injury and Peter hissed, the skin around his eyes tightening for a split second, but he steadied himself before smiling up at her.

“Y-You’re a natural.” He took a few more breaths before trying to speak again. “You’re gonna need to-- to keep applying pressure for a li’l while until it stops bleedin’. Or until the worst of it stops. Th-Then wash it out and slap-- slap a bandage on.” He licked his lips, then met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… This wasn’t--”

“Don’t apologize, idiot.” She could feel the warmth of his overheated skin even through the towel. “We both knew something like this could happen. That’s what the kit’s for.”

She expected him to quip back with some stupid, frustratingly blasé line like usual, but he didn’t. Instead he offered the smallest of nods in response. 

Somehow it was awkward when they both fell silent, Michelle leaning her weight into the dishtowel on his side and him staring with variably focused eyes at the ceiling. Every now and then a car horn or a siren or someone yelling outside would make Michelle jump. She’d force a laugh she didn’t feel and Peter would smile at her. Each time, as they lapsed back into silence, she tried not to think about what was under her hands.

“I think-- I think you can clean the wound now,” he said eventually. Michelle eased the pressure off as slow as her shaking hands could manage, bracing herself for a gush of blood that would throw them right back into that scene of anxious waiting, but it seemed Peter was right. She dropped the dishtowel onto the floor next to them and gently peeled back a corner of the suit to reveal the injury.

She froze.

It was deep. It was  _ bad. _ The skin all around the puncture was inflamed and starting to swell and coated in drying blood. She stopped breathing as her racing mind tried to process the sight of a  _ hole  _ in her best friend _. _

No. No processing, just doing. She could freak out later. Peter needed her.

“What do I clean it with?” she asked. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Peter’s side to look at his face. “Peroxide?”

“No, just-- just lots of water. And dish soap, if you h-have it.”

She nodded, standing and striding out of the room. She threw open the hallway closet and pulled out a bucket and an armful of towels, chucking the latter into her bedroom as she raced past to grab dish soap from the kitchen. She shoved the bucket under the sink and filled it with cool water before mixing in a generous squirt of soap. Some of the water slopped onto the floor as she hurried back to Peter.

“Got it,” she said, dropping down beside him. She piled most of the towels against his side to catch the excess water before dunking the edge of one towel into the bucket. She squeezed it out over the wound and Peter went stiff, jaw clenching.

“You okay?”

Peter nodded sharply. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Yeah.”

Michelle put a hand on his arm as she squeezed the towel out again and the chill of his skin startled her after dealing with the heat around the injury. She realized he was shivering. 

She dipped the towel into the water again and wrung it out over the injury. Pink-tinged water flowed down Peter’s side, soaking into her extra towels. She repeated, over and over and over, until the water was flowing clear.

“You’re-- You’re good at this,” Peter said, gazing up at her. “Th… The first time I-I had to do some’ing like this, I cried the whole time.” He laughed at himself, weak and breathy, and MJ’s heart twisted. “You’re a helluva lot tougher than I am.”

There was a lump in Michelle’s throat and it took a moment before she could speak without her voice wavering.

“Well, we always knew that.”

Peter laughed again, proper this time, but he winced as he twinged the puncture wound.

“I guess so.”

MJ dug through the first aid supplies she’d dumped out earlier, returning successful with a small tube of antibiotic cream. She went to squeeze some onto her finger, but hesitated, grimacing as she looked at the injury. Another quick look around showed her a tiny box of q-tips that she shook out into her hand, using one to slather cream over the wound. She glanced over at Peter’s face when she finished; his eyelids were drooping.

“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?” she asked, incredulous.

“Crime-fighting’s hard work,” he mumbled back. He made what appeared to be a monumental effort to keep his eyes open. Something in the back of Michelle’s mind was nagging her, reminding her that fatigue was a common symptom of shock. 

_ I can’t do anything about shock right now,  _ she thought furiously.  _ But I know how to use a fucking bandaid.  _

She found the cotton pad she’d abandoned earlier when trying to stop the bleeding and pressed it against Peter’s side, securing it with a couple strips of medical tape. Tiny splotches of red started to appear in the blank white fabric, but she’d done the best she could. It would have to do.

“I should probably look at the burns next,” she said, looking over at Peter again. His eyes were closed, his muscles lax. “Peter?” He didn’t react. Her heartbeat quickened. “Peter, dude, this isn’t the time to mess with me.”

When he still didn’t move, she dropped the tape in her hand and brought her cheek close to his mouth and nose. His breath brushed against her skin, shallow and fast. She held two fingers against his jugular and felt a racing pulse.

“Oh shit,” she breathed, “Shit, shit, shit,  _ shit.” _

She didn’t know what to do. She’d stopped his bleeding, cleaned the puncture wound, he should have been getting  _ better,  _ not passing out on her carpet. If Peter had been awake he’d know what step to take next, but he wasn’t, she was all alone and she was panicking.

Her own breathing was quickening and she took a second to fall back against the frame of her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to slow the heaving of her chest with mixed success, just barely avoiding full-on hyperventilation. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours weighing on her nerves.

Once she was somewhat composed, she snatched her phone off the nightstand and with trembling fingers, called Ned. It rang twice before it picked up.

“MJ!” he said before she could choke out anything. “Were you watching the news? I set up a Google alert for Spider-Man and it woke me up like an hour ago saying--”

“I know, Ned, Peter’s with me.” She rubbed a hand over her face, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“Oh, shit, is he…? Is he okay?”

MJ shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “He’s not great. He showed up in my apartment and he walked me through taking care of some of the worst stuff, but then he passed out and…” She took a steadying breath. “Ned, I need you to be my guy in the chair.”

“I’m on it,” he said almost immediately. The sound of wheels rolling across wood floors floated over the phone, followed by Ned’s fingers settling on the keyboard. “Tell me what you need.”

“What do I do for shock?” she asked as she moved to her feet, tapping the speakerphone icon and throwing her phone onto the bed.

“What kind of shock?”

“I-- There are different kinds of shock?”

“According to the internet there are. What’s causing it?”

Michelle looked Peter over, taking in the burns all over his body and the red-stained towels next to him. “Blood loss,” she said.

“Okay. Okay, hypovolemic shock is supposed to be treated with fluids, but I’m assuming you don’t keep any IVs in your apartment and he can’t drink anything while unconscious so we’ll try some other stuff.” A pause filled with more keys clacking. “He needs to be kept warm and you gotta elevate his legs to increase blood flow to major organs.”

With a goal now in mind, the panic started to recede from Michelle’s thoughts. She grabbed a couple pillows from her bed and stuck them under Peter’s feet before dragging extra blankets out of her closet. She draped them over as much of him as she could without covering the burns. In a sudden flash of inspiration, she ran out of her room and into the kitchen, rifling through cabinets until she found a stash of pocket warmers her mother had accrued last winter. She raced back to the bedroom and kneeled at Peter’s side, snapping the hand warmers one by one and laying them over his body.

“Alright,” she said when she finished. “How do I treat burns?”

The waiting while Ned searched online for treatment options was excruciating, but soon he came back saying, “Cool water.”

She waited a moment for him to continue, but he said nothing.

“’Cool water’? That’s all you’ve got?!”

“Most of the advice is to run water over it or go to a doctor! Unless you’re planning to take him to a hospital, this is the best we can do!”

MJ rubbed the heel of her hands into her eyes, groaning. “His suit’s stuck to the burns, Ned, how the fuck do I get it off without hurting him?”

“Water, MJ!” he said. “Google says water’s the treatment for…!  _ Everything!” _

She growled in frustration, slapping her hands against the floor. She wanted to hit something, to scream, to let someone else come in and  _ deal with _ this mess so she wouldn’t have to. But no one else was coming.

After forcing a few steadying breaths, she picked up the damp towel she’d been using earlier and dunked it back into the bucket of water. She lifted one edge of the suit until it was just barely pulling at one of the smaller burns and squeezed the towel out over the injury. As water flowed over the burn, Michelle stole a glance at Peter’s face, but it was still smoothed over in unconsciousness. A sneaking, guilty wave of gratitude wormed into her stomach; she wasn’t sure how much more pain she could bear seeing him in.

After a minute or so of soaking the wound, the edge of the suit started to give way. She resisted the urge to tug on it, instead letting it peel away on its own, and after another few minutes she was able to lift that section of the suit off completely. A relieved grin broke the tight line of her lips.

“It’s working,” she said. Over the phone, Ned laughed.

“You’re doing great, MJ. Just hang in there.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She soaked the towel again and got to work on the next closest burn, relieved when it started unsticking after only a few rinses. This time she got hasty and lifted the suit too roughly and the skin tore, sending rivulets of blood dripping down Peter’s side.

_ “Fuck,”  _ she growled, pressing the towel against the gash.  _ Stupid. _

Something in her shifted a little, then, and she realized how empty the apartment was. How far the world outside stretched, filled with oblivious, uncaring people. How she was sixteen and scared and right now the only person Peter had to lean on. How she was alone and  _ failing. _ An uneasy, hitching laugh bubbled up through her heaving chest. “Where’s an adult when you need one?”

She kept one hand on the dishtowel pressed to Peter’s abdomen and with the other snatched another clean towel from the pile on the floor. She dipped this one in the bucket and squeezed it out over the wound, watching as the water swept blood from underneath her fingers, some of it escaping the boundary of her towel barrier and wetting the knees of her pajama pants.

“I’m coming over,” Ned said suddenly.

“What? Dude, it’s almost 4AM, how would you even get here?”

“I’ll ask one of my moms to drive me,” he said. The wheels of his desk chair squeaked as he stood. “There shouldn’t be much traffic this late.”

“What the hell are you gonna tell them, Ned? ‘Hey Mom, I know it’s 4AM, but can you drive me to a friend’s house because Peter’s dying a little bit, but don’t worry, we’ve got it handled’?” The words were scarcely out of her mouth before she regretted them, a new surge of panic making her hands shake harder, sending droplets of soapy water splattering over the carpet.

Ned took a moment before he spoke.

“He’s not gonna die, MJ,” he said softly. “Peter’s too stubborn for that.”

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

She could hear as Ned started rifling through his closet for clothes. “I’ll just tell them that a friend really needs help and let them fill in the gaps. Not technically a lie and enough that they should bring me. I can be over in 15 minutes.”

Michelle dunked the towel in the bucket again and saw she would need to get more water soon. Rational thought told her she shouldn’t let Ned come; it would only raise questions none of them could answer without compromising Peter’s identity. But the surge of relief she felt when she imagined him sitting beside her, sharing this burden, quashed any protest before she could voice it.

“Okay,” she said instead. “There’s-- The door’s locked so you’re gonna have to press the buzzer so I know to let you in.”

“Got it. I’ll see you in 15.” The call ended with that promise hanging in the air.

Even though she knew she’d see him in just a few minutes, Michelle already missed having Ned on the phone. That feeling of a world too large for her to fit in returned with a vengeance and she had to take a moment to breathe.

She returned to treating Peter’s wounds. She found a flow: dunk the towel, squeeze the water out, lift the suit away from the burn. Dunk, squeeze, lift. Dunk, squeeze, lift. She was able to focus on the task in front of her to keep her thoughts from spiraling. Dunk, squeeze, lift. Dunk, squeeze, lift.

Her concentration was broken when a sharp buzzing sound filled her apartment. It took her a moment to register what is was because it felt simultaneously like seconds and an eternity had passed.

“Don’t die,” she commanded her friend’s unconscious form before standing and almost sprinting out and down the stairs to let Ned in. She swung open the door and Ned smiled for a split second before his face fell in shock.

“What?” she asked.

Ned just stared for a moment, then hurried her back inside, pulling the door closed behind them.

_ “What?” _ MJ repeated. Ned threw his hands out at her.

“You’re--! You’re  _ covered _ in blood!”

She glanced down. Sure enough, her hands are coated in a thin sheen of red and her pajamas looked like they belonged to a murder victim. Even her feet were spackled with a few flakes of drying blood.

“Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. Busy, I guess.”

Ned reached out a tentative hand and poked her cheek. “There’s some on your face too.”

Michelle swatted him away, turning and starting back up the stairs.

“I’ll deal with it later. Peter’s in my room.”

They got back into her apartment and strode across the living room to Michelle’s open bedroom door. Peter’s head and shoulders were just visible from where he lay on the floor behind her bed. To MJ’s surprise and immense relief, Peter craned his neck to look at them as they entered.

“Fucking finally, Sleeping Beauty,” she said. He offered a shaky smile in return.

“Heyyy, Ned’s ‘ere too,” he croaked. “It’s like a party!” He started to leverage himself up onto his elbows and she and Ned both rushed forward to stop him.

“Take it easy, man, take it easy,” Ned said, putting a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder. Peter’s eyes narrowed as he was pushed back onto the carpet and his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“Hey, ‘m fine,” he insisted. “Good as-- as gold.”

MJ moved around to his other side to grab the wet towel--now a familiar weight in her hand--and experimentally lifted Peter’s suit as much as she could without feeling resistance. There seemed to be only one burn left to unstick.

“We’re almost finished.” She squeezed the towel out over him and Peter winced. “Just hold still.”

“Let me help--” Peter said, leaning forward only to freeze as he pulled on the puncture wound and choked on a cry of pain. MJ’s heart skipped.

“Jesus, would you-- Ned, could you hold him down or something before he hurts himself?”

Ned nodded and positioned himself behind Peter, who protested, insisting he could treat the wounds himself now that he was no longer bleeding out. Ned hunkered down on his knees and pulled Peter’s head into his lap, laying his arms gently but firmly over Peter’s collarbones. Peter tried to argue, but even that effort seemed to have sapped the remaining strength out of him. He sagged against Ned. Michelle stuffed the pillows Peter had displaced back under his feet.

She soaked the towel. She could feel their eyes on her, could feel Ned’s nervous energy coming off him in waves, but the pressure of being watched was a vast improvement over trying to do it alone. She squeezed cool water out over the last burn and saw Peter’s muscles tense.

“When does the next Star Wars movie come out again?” Ned asked suddenly. She threw him a bewildered look and his expression mirrored hers exactly. He did the tiniest “I-don’t-know!” shrug.

“Um. Uh, December, I think. Around Christmas,” Peter responded. His voice was strained, a little slurred, but his eyes were looking up at Ned rather than focused on his own battered body.

“We won’t be in school, right?” Ned’s thumb started running back and forth over the bare skin on Peter’s uninjured shoulder. Peter visibly relaxed at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“N-No, we shouldn’t be. D’you wanna-- wanna see it with me?”

Michelle washed out the burn again and this time he didn’t react.

“Well, duh,” Ned returned. “The question is, are we camping out again to catch the midnight screening?” Peter laughed, breathy and high.

“Dude, it was  _ so cold _ last year! But if you want to, I’ll c-camp out with you.”

With a final wave of water, the spidey suit came completely free. She tossed it to the side with a relieved smile.

“What about you, MJ?” Peter asked, tearing her away from figuring out her next move. “Wanna…” He seemed to run out of air and had to try again. “Wanna see Star Wars with us?”

“And let you two losers drag me farther into your geek-ery?” She scoffed in faux dismissal, but her face softened as she hunted through the first aid kit for the burn cream. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Peter and Ned let out soft cheers. She opened up the small tube of cream, but Ned stopped her by handing over a pair of latex gloves he’d picked up from the floor.

“They should be sterile,” he explained. “We need to prevent infection.” She nodded and stuffed her bloodied hands into the baby blue gloves, then squeezed a little of the cream onto two fingers. If either of her friends noticed her hands trembling, they didn’t say anything.

Ned and Peter continued their conversation as she slathered burn cream and antiseptic over the wounds. Peter’s sentences would sometimes be cut off by a hiss of pain, but Ned would run his thumb over Peter’s skin with a little more pressure and he’d continue. Whenever talking seemed to be too overwhelming for him, Ned filled the silence with idle chatter.

Most of the burns were small enough the MJ could use one of the many, many traditional bandages in the first aid kit, but a couple she had to cover over with gauze and secure with medical tape. When she finished, Peter’s torso looked like a poorly-designed patchwork quilt.

“Okay,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “I think that’s the worst of it handled.” Peter tried to give her a thumbs-up, but his arm thumped back down against the carpet. Ned held his wrist up for him and Peter laughed, weak but genuine. She couldn’t hold back a smile.

“We’ve gotta do something about this shoulder,” Ned said. He nodded at the nasty patch of road rash covering Peter’s entire shoulder and running partway down his back and the side of his arm.

“We’re gonna need to sit him up.” She carefully slid one arm behind Peter’s back while Ned put his hands under his shoulders and together they managed to get him upright. Peter screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, but he held in any noises of pain. He started to slump forward, but Ned managed to catch him, leaning him against his own chest in a half-hug.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” he said. Peter huffed out a laugh.

“Thanks, m’n,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

MJ removed her gloves in favor of a clean pair before leaning in to take a better look at the road rash. The sight of his skin rubbed raw made her stomach swoop uncomfortably, but she pushed down the nausea. “I need to get more water.”

She left, taking the almost-empty bucket with her, and tipped the dregs of pinkish water down her bathroom sink. When it was re-filled with clear, cool water, she stopped at the linen closet for another clean towel and went back into the bedroom.

Peter’s eyes were closed, his head leaning against Ned’s neck. There were dark circles under his eyes to rival the purpling of his jaw, and his skin was scary pale, but he looked at ease.

She knelt down next to them and ran some of the water over his injured shoulder. He hissed, but didn’t pull away. She repeated, washing the wound over and over again, but some flecks of gravel were still embedded into his skin.

“Shit…” she said. The anxiety flared again, that sickening feeling of helplessness stealing her air, and Ned must have noticed her panic because he lifted one hand from Peter’s back to grab her wrist.

“Breathe,” he said. “Just breathe.” She did as told and took in a deep breath, holding it until her lungs ached before letting it out again in a long, shaky exhale.

“Tweez’rs,” Peter said, and both their eyes snapped to him. “Tweez’rs in the bag.”

MJ rifled through the first aid kit and sure enough there was a small pair of metal tweezers hidden away in one of the pockets. She placed on hand just below the injury to steady herself and started picking out the gravel piece by piece. It was slow, painstaking work and every time she slipped, the sharp edge of the tweezer dug into the sensitive skin and Peter would make a pained noise in the back of his throat that made her want to scream. She apologized, over and over again, for hurting him, but didn’t take her eyes off her work.

She let the tweezers fall from her stiff fingers when she finished and was quick to wrap his shoulder in a bandage. Ned kept up a litany of encouragements, both for her and for Peter, the entire time.

_ “You’re doing great. We’re almost there, almost done. Just a little longer. You’re doing so good.” _

Ned helped her wipe as much blood from Peter’s skin as possible before she rummaged through her closet for clean clothes to put him in. She found her baggiest zip-up hoodie and a pair of sweats she knew would be too long for her shorter friend and she carried all of the dirty towels into the bathroom while Ned helped him change. When she came back they half-carried, half-dragged Peter into the more sanitary living room and eased him down onto the couch. She stuffed a water bottle into his hands as Ned sat down next to him.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” she announced. She tossed the TV remote at Ned and walked back down the hallway into the bathroom.

She stepped into the bathroom’s soft yellow lighting, closed and locked the door behind her, and promptly broke down.

Tears ran down her face, splashing against the floor. Her knees threatened to give way, to send her crashing to the tiles as she fought to keep herself quiet, to keep her stupid,  _ childish _ breakdown from leaving this room. Peter was  _ fine!  _ He was alive and okay and watching TV on her couch and she shouldn’t be shaking apart like this now that it was over, but she  _ was. _

She hunched over the sink, hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs wracking her body. Peter had almost  _ died,  _ right there in her bedroom. She’d almost watched as one of her best friends bled out on her carpet. His blood was drying on her hands, stretching and cracking as she moved her sore fingers. Every muscle in her body ached from being coiled impossibly tight as she waited for  _ hours  _ upon  _ hours  _ for something to go so wrong that she wouldn’t be able to fix it.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of overwhelming terror that had gripped her from the first moment Peter has fallen through her window. In the moment, with the pressure on and a goal in front of her, she had been able to push it aside, but now, in the too-quiet aftermath, she was drowning.

She fell. Her trembling legs couldn’t hold her and she stumbled backwards, her back crashing into the wall, and she slid down until she landed on the cold floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest and sobbed into her arms, breath hitching on every inhale, every exhale like a punch to the gut. She didn’t know how long she stayed there; it wasn’t long. She was needed.

When it felt a little less like her world was imploding, MJ stood. She saw herself in the mirror, then, saw the blood streaked across her cheek that had startled Ned, that she hadn’t even noticed until he pointed it out. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she washed her hands. Scrubbed gently at her face and arms. Picked blood out from under her nails. Let the red fade from her eyes before leaving the bathroom to find new pajamas in her room. She didn’t look at the blood staining her carpet as she changed.

When she wandered back into her living room, Peter’s legs were swung over one arm of the couch and his back was propped up against Ned’s side. Ned had handed the remote over to him and he was flipping lazily through channels, searching for something decent to watch among the late-night reruns.

“Move over, losers,” she said, her voice a little raw, as she flopped down on the other side of the couch. Ned threw a concerned glance her way, but Peter was apparently too drained to notice much of anything. His head thumped back against Ned’s shoulder and his eyes closed for the barest of seconds before Ned was nudging him.

“Drink your water first,” he said. Peter obediently lifted the bottle to his lips and MJ smiled. When Peter lowered the bottle, he started to speak.

“I should…” He blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes and tried again: “I should prob’ly go home…”

“Don’t be an idiot.” MJ reached around Ned to slap him lightly on his uninjured shoulder. He pulled an exaggerated face and rubbed at his arm. “You’re not going anywhere because you can’t fucking  _ walk _ and I sure as hell ain’t carrying you.”

“It’s the weekend, dude,” Ned supplied. “There’s nowhere you need to be. Stay here and take it easy.”

Peter’s eyelids fluttered again and his head started to loll to the side before he caught himself. “Fair-- Fair enough.”

They lapsed into silence. MJ couldn’t help but be unnerved; silence so far tonight had meant Peter was waning, had meant she was thrown into crisis mode in a desperate attempt to bring the situation under control. It seemed she was only sure Peter was  _ alive _ when he was  _ talking,  _ but none of them, strung-out and exhausted as they were, had anything to say. Each sound-cut as Peter jumped to another channel was as jarring as a gong in her ear.

Ned kept fidgeting beside her, his eyes flicking over to Peter every few seconds. When Peter leaned his head back on his shoulder, he tensed up for a minute, turning slightly to watch their injured friend until he was satisfied Peter was just tired and a normal level of clingy. 

The tension and anxiety slipped away slowly until they’d exhausted the least dregs of adrenaline and had sunk into each other, invading each other’s personal space in a way Michelle had never expected to experience with these two losers when she first met them. Peter had given up pretense and was happily nestled into Ned’s side. Ned had tugged MJ’s legs into his lap so she’d be covered by their shared blanket. Her arm was thrown over the back of the couch to rest lightly on Peter’s shoulder, just enough of a touch that she could feel him breathing.

“We need to talk,” Ned said, breaking the silence. “About… y’know, about what we’re gonna do now.” Peter snuggled deeper into the blanket.

“I was going to watch  _ Project Runway _ .”

“Don’t be stupid, Parker,” MJ cut in. “Shit  _ really _ hit the fan tonight. We-- We weren’t prepared, dude. That could have gone a whole lot worse.”

Peter’s gaze moved to his lap; she hated that she couldn’t see his face from this angle.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping all this stuff on you.”

Ned scoffed. “That what friends are  _ for, _ man. Well, I wasn’t really expecting this life-or-death stuff, and I’m not gonna lie, it scares the hell out of me whenever you go out Spider-Man-ing because, like, what happens if you get hurt all the way out in Brooklyn? What happens if you get  _ shot?  _ We don’t have any way of helping you, Peter.”

“Even just laying out some protocol,” MJ said. “Who we should contact when you’re in over your head. Some guidelines for us to know when it’s bad enough to risk taking you to a hospital.  _ Something,  _ Peter.”

Ned and Michelle had both turned to look at him, waiting for an answer. He visibly deflated.

“...I know.” Peter took a deep breath, holding it for a second before easing it out. “I just… I can’t think about it. When I think about going out a-and getting hurt, it scares me. It terrifies me.”

He paused. He wasn’t done, they knew, so they waited.

“I think… it’s not dying that scares me, not really. But I can’t leave May alone. I can’t do that to her, especially not when I’m the reason--” Peter’s voice choked off in something that wasn’t quite tears, but it was close. He swallowed, taking another breath before continuing. “People need Spider-Man. I-I can’t just  _ not _ help people because there’s a chance I could get hurt. And I guess I don’t really plan ahead when it comes to getting injured because I’m afraid that I’ll scared myself into staying home. I-I can’t let anything get in the way of-- of trying to do good.”

When Peter finished, Michelle was surprised to note that there was no tension in the room. Peter was always talking, but it was rare for him to  _ say _ anything, and yet he didn’t seem embarrassed or unsure or in any way regretful. She felt touched at the show of trust.

“Let us handle it then,” she said. Peter twisted to look at her and grimaced at the movement, then relaxed as the pain subsided.

“What are you saying?”

“Let us call the shots. Ned and I are your Guys in the Chair, so you let us make the call when to step in.” She looked at Ned and he nodded. “If we say you need a professional to patch you up, you don’t argue. If we tell you to skip patrolling for the night so you can get some rest, you listen. That means  _ trusting  _ us to make the right call.” Peter gaped for a moment.

“I-- I’d trust you guys with my life, you know I would, but that’s-- it’s so much work! I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Dude, it’s like you said.” They turned to look at Ned. “People need Spider-Man. And if doing our part for the city means, y’know, supporting you, then we’re more than happy to do it.”

Peter looked at them a second more before turning away, blinking rapidly.

“I… I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. Michelle ignored her own burning eyes in favor of sinking back into the couch.

“You can start by shutting up so we can watch the rest of the show, Spider-Dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> taking prompts over at peteyprker.tumblr.com


End file.
